


Each Step Left Behind

by Anonymous



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, M/M, Time Travel Fix-It, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-14 17:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11212587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Peter is sent back to the beginning of everything with explicit instructions to save Nadia's father. Which would be fine, except for the fact that he has no idea who the fuck Letha's 'angel' even is.





	1. Into the Black

**Author's Note:**

> I just want them to be happy okay 
> 
> WARNINGS: Canon typical stuff like violence, swearing, gore, excessive drug use, self harm, rape mentions, suicide, blood, death, etc.

The wolf lowered its massive head to the ground and breathed in deeply. Something had been bothering it lately, a taste on the wind that some strange part of it recognized. An old, no longer relevant part that its wild side had eaten alive many moons ago. Lips peeling back from its teeth, the wolf backed away from the footprint and turned to lope through its woods.

Somehow, despite its skin itching to lay claim to a new territory, the wolf always ended up back at the massive brick monster crouching darkly near its forest. Occasionally lights would flicker on inside the place and the wolf would see shadows moving within it. Tonight it was dark, dark and quiet enough that the wolf left its woods to stand at a place that drew it as if it were a puppet on strings. A place that smelled faintly of blood, though it should be impossible that it still smell that way after years of rainfalls.

Settling down on its haunches, the wolf let out a low whimper at the discomfort the place made it feel. It snapped at the air, paced back and forth, pissed on the spot. Nothing helped it feel less odd.

_Just do it._

The voice on the wind made its ears perk, then flatten tight against its head. Somehow it still recognized the intent behind the words even if it didn't recognize the words themselves. A fleeting image of a human's face streaked with blood laying before it made the wolf let out a low, restless growl. A growl other wolves would recognize as anger or frustration, though something else belied it. A different emotion that werewolves especially usually didn't feel.

_It's over, man._

The wolf ran its tongue over teeth stained yellow with years of gorging itself on prey. The blood smell in the air that was-there-but-not also existed as a unique flavour on its tongue. The wolf usually enjoyed the hot warmth of blood and bone crunching in its maw, but this bloody taste was more like carrion.

"Hey, look! It's that wolf!" a voice cried from inside the brick monster, lights flickering on as a figure appeared at one of the monster's transparent spots.

"Always stands there," another voice said in a tone slightly less than a growl. "Wonder if it's the thing that did that boy in. What's his face who died there and owned the house before us? Rory something or another?"

"Roman?" the second voice questioned with a hint of pride.

The rest of the conversation was lost as the wolf's ears flattened even closer to its head and it backed away cautiously from the spot. It had not understood the language of the humans, yet the last word it had heard sparked something dark in its mind. Roman. The feeling lone wolves who were content to be lone shouldn't have grew. The wolf shrugged its shoulders, fur rising on its back as it tried to ignore the feeling. Impossible.

When it grew too much and the wolf couldn't take it anymore, it paused in its retreat and raised its head to the full moon overhead. In one long, wordless howl, it let out the most mournful sound any creature in the forest had ever heard. A sound that carried throughout the entire town of Hemlock Grove and made the young woman sitting at the edge of the woods stand and brush her dress off.

When its howl was done, the wolf turned and began a light run to the forest, only to find the young woman waiting for it. She stood with her hands clasped peacefully at her stomach, eyes glittering a blue so bright that even the night's shadows couldn't take the colour away.

"I've been looking for you, Peter," she said with a small smile, and some strange instinct older than time itself stopped the wolf from lunging at her. Instead, the wolf cocked its head and let out a low warning growl with a note of curiosity. For some reason, it understood this creature in front of it. Not the words, perhaps, but the images behind them. The feeling of searching and the immense satisfaction of finding what it was looking for.

"It's been a long time since you've been a human," the young woman exhaled, bouncing on the balls of bare feet with toes dug deep into the dirt. "But I can still feel you in there. Come out. That's an order."

The wolf bared its teeth. And then...

A shiver. Its pelt writhed, its very skin trembling and growing hot as its paws skittered against the dirt floor of the forest's edge. As the moon watched, the wolf went from a proud, solitary creature to a whining thing as harmless as a wet kitten, collapsing to the floor with paws scrabbling weakly as its jaws creaked.

The transformation took much longer than it had for any wolf, for this wolf shouldn't be any other type of animal ever again. Becoming human was as unnatural as a tree uprooting and walking away, but under the watchful gaze of two pleased blue eyes, it happened. The wolf's skin and fur were shrugged off, jaws opening up like it had been nothing more than some ridiculous Halloween costume. Gold eyes pushed out as the wolf's whines turned into whimpers and what clawed at the ground became nothing more than fingers whiter than the moon above. When it was all said and done, the wolf-that-was-no-longer-a-wolf lay curled naked in the fetal position on the ground. It - he - did not dare uncurl.

"There you are," the young woman sighed happily as she came to him, kneeling down and removing a mossy green shawl from her shoulders to drape over the man's form. "I know this must be hard. After being a wolf for so long, being human again will be very difficult. But you're the only one who can stop all that happened. Shelley told me everything, and I don't think anyone else can stop all the players on the board."

"W - wha..." Peter spoke through chattering teeth, randomly grabbing at one of the words swirling in his head.

"There isn't much time," the woman said, reaching down to brush incredibly long locks back from Peter's face. "The next time the moon is full on the summer solstice, we may not be alive to see it. I know you won't understand any of this, but times like these increase my power enough to use the natural channels running beneath this town. One specific channel, in fact, that hasn't been used in centuries. The Ouroboros."

"N... adia?" Peter managed to get out, still weakly trying to struggle up. He knew the eyes, and the physical beauty of the form they were set in could be none other than Letha's child. Broken fragments of memories were beginning to come back to him, though he didn't want to get to the end of that spool because he sensed nothing but heartache.

The young woman pushed him firmly back down, shaking her head.

"Pay attention, Peter. I know you and him felt it down there, but neither of you could access it. I can. It's amazingly powerful, like nothing I've ever felt before, and time means _nothing_ to it since it's circuitous. I could send you a thousand years into the future if I wanted. However, if I sent you back before I was conceived then it would create a paradox that might tear open everything. I can't do that. So I'm going to send you back to when I can."

"Back," Peter muttered flatly, confused. None of this was making sense. He needed to find Letha... No. He clutched his stomach, grimacing as he saw her death. He'd already grieved her but it was no less harsh now. He wanted to talk to someone who understood. Roman would... Oh fuck. _Roman._ And... _Destiny_. No nonono. He wanted to go back to being a wolf. A sob wracked his body as he drew his knees close.

"Stop it," Nadia snapped, slipping two fingers under his chin and tilting his watery gaze up to meet hers. "We don't have time for this. _Listen_. You know what's going to happen, so you can stop it. I'm sending you back. You can still fix the majority of this. You need to save my father, Peter."

"Your father?" Peter asked through a breaking voice, still not understanding what Nadia was talking about. What did she mean she was sending him back? And what did she mean by her father? Peter had no idea who her father was; according to Letha, it was an angel. But before he could ask, Nadia cast a fearful glance at where clouds were beginning to obscure the moon and worked her bottom lip between her teeth.

" _They_ know what I'm doing. I wish we had more time to talk. Ha! Worrying about time now when I'm about to take so much of it away. I'm sorry. I'd go myself but it's too late to fix things then. Save them, Peter. You can't save my mother, but you can save my father and Shelley and your cousin."

"I don't understand," Peter said brokenly, and Nadia smiled a small, sad thing that made his heart ache. It looked so much like Roman's smile - his real smile - that Peter was torn up all over again.

"No one does, really. Even though you don't know me very well, I still consider you a good friend. Thanks for everything you've done for my family. This will be the last time this version of me sees you, though we _will_ meet again. Goodbye."

"Wai - "

Peter's protest was abruptly cut off as Nadia set a hand against his bare chest and shoved. His yell was swallowed by the dirt as he sunk into it, feeling it rise around him as body went deeper and deeper into the earth towards that ancient thing he knew resided down there. He couldn't scream, couldn't move, couldn't even blink as the weight carried him down. He was on fire, burning, dying, time passing before his eyes as he was submerged in what felt like liquid fire. The weight lifted just enough for him to shut his eyes on the bloody scenes before him, and then he opened his mouth to scream.

A hundred years later -

A century later -

A millennia later -

But, really, a mere second later -

"Peter?"

He bolted upright, the thing holding him up tipping and spilling him onto the ground. With a hoarse shout, he stood up and swung at the empty air in front of him only to find that there was nothing there. Blinking lethargically, he rubbed his eyes and peered at the junk scattered around the place he was standing. No way.

"Um... are you okay? It looked like you were having a nightmare."

That voice. There was no possible way. And yet.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Peter turned his human body to where a familiar hammock swayed gently in the wind between two trees. And, standing with her hand against one tree and giving him a look completely at odds with the last look he'd seen on that sweet face, stood the last person he'd ever expected to see again.

Christina.


	2. Human

Peter's first thought was a wolf-like thought from years of dealing with the world of predators and prey; attack. His body tensed up as the girl before him tilted a confused head and clutched the book in one arm tighter to her chest. She was an enemy and he should kill her before she had a chance to kill him. Of course, that thought didn't last very long, as it was quickly replaced by a second that made him roll his eyes to the sky and let out a loud groan.

Shee-it. _Now_ he understood what Nadia had meant by 'sending him back.' Far as he could tell, this was a week or so before he would start school in Hemlock Grove for the first time. Yeah, it was possible he could go around changing shit to save them all from the clusterfuck set of endings they'd gotten, but he had a feeling messing around with the past was the absolute last thing anyone in his family would ever suggest. Nicolae had told him once that it was better to live in a shitty present than a glorious past, because someday the present would be past and it would _all_ be shit. You couldn't swerve to avoid an accident when you too busy looking out the rear-view mirror to watch the road. Good advice, but how exactly could that translate to _literally_ living in the past?

"Well?" Christina prompted when he forgot about her question, and she let out a small sigh when he shook his head. "I said 'Are you okay?'"

If this was a week before school, the full moon had come and gone a few days ago and Christina had probably already taken a drink from his paw print. In fact, he could feel in his balls that it was already too late to help her; she'd have to be put down. It made him wince and run a tired hand through his hair as he thought about how in the hell he was supposed to kill an innocent girl who was well loved by the local cops and who had been seen hanging out with him multiple times. Oh yeah, that would be a lovely conversation at the station. It was like the beginning of some bad joke; two cops and a gypsy walk into the station...

"I'm fine," Peter said aloud, keeping distance between the two of them. He'd genuinely liked this Christina - the one who loved writing and who wasn't a crazed killer - and he couldn't bring himself to think about killing her in cold blood right now. Instead, he waved a dismissive hand and tried to calm his racing thoughts. "I gotta talk to Lynda about some stuff though, so you may as well go home. It's Seer shit."

"Like, seeing the future?" Christina asked with sparkling eyes.

"Something like that," Peter muttered as he idly flipped the hammock back to its original position. "See you around."

Without waiting for an answer, Peter stuffed his hands into his pockets and made his way towards the trailer. The whole scene was achingly familiar; ratty chairs crouching in no semblance of organization near the wall, junk piled up to hide the shoddy craftsmanship of the lattices, smoke drifting out from the door rattling around in the wind, his mother standing in the doorway squinting at him... He had to swallow a lump in his throat as he mounted the steps and felt one of Lynda's strong arms wrap around his shoulders.

"Something's up," Lynda stated in a way that asked a whole lot for two words that didn't even make a question. Peter nodded as she let him go and he stole to the fridge to crack open a beer, watching condensation gather and bead around his fingers as he thought about what to tell her. She'd be cool with him keeping his secrets, but this involved her just as much as the rest of them.

"I'm not from this time," Peter said finally, setting one hand on top of the fridge and letting his forehead fall against the door. "I'm from the future."

A pause behind him as Lynda processed this. And then:

"Shouldn't be messing with the past, baby. It could get you in all sorts of trouble."

"Yeah, I know." Peter took a long swig of beer, closing his eyes in satisfaction at it began to settle comfortably in his stomach. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed alcohol after being a wolf for so many years. "But the thing is, everything is so fucked up in the future that I don't think even messing with the past can make it worse." He rapped twice on the wooden counter above his head so he wouldn't jinx himself.

"Like?"

"I'm a vargulf forever, the girl I love is dead, her baby is... I don't even know what the fuck she is, my best friend is dead - killed by me, some other girls we like are dead, you're wanted by the cops and maybe even the feds, Destiny is killed by my best friend, and the body count for this town is so goddamn high that I'm surprised they didn't just burn it to the ground already."

Lynda let out a low whistle, and a second later Peter felt her tapping him lightly out of the way so she could grab a beer for herself from the fridge. She cracked it open and they both took long drinks before she set hers down and reached up with one hand, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

"I won't ask to know anymore because I don't think much good will come from me knowing, but I trust your judgement. I raised you to be a good boy and I know you'll do the right thing. If it feels right, change what you need to. I'll listen to whatever you choose."

"Thanks." Peter finished his beer with ease and grabbed another one, finally allowing himself to let everything in. He was in the past with the chance to change everything that happened. Nadia - thank god she survived - had asked him to save a bunch of his friends. Specifically, her father. If he was really going through with this, he'd have to dig into a ton of stuff and try to stop things early before they got too late to change. He'd probably have to start with Brooke Bluebell and Christina. Namely, killing one to save the other and to make sure no werewolf hunters came to town. For that he'd need some serious help.

"I'm going to have to work with a Godfrey," he warned Lynda straight up, and though her lips flattened momentarily, she nodded stoically. Peter wondered if she saw just how much it took for him to say the name Godfrey. After everything they'd been through... "And I'm going to do some research on upirs. I think there's some stuff I'm not understanding about their nature."

"Oh. Upirs," Lynda snorted as her hand dropped away and she began to move about the kitchen, stirring the pots that had been creating the smoke leaking out the door. "I know a bit about them. They're aggressive, emotionally unstable, and bad news when they've become full-blooded."

"Aren't they born full?" Peter asked, thinking about how he could immediately feel the fact that Roman was an upir that first day in school. Lynda shook her head, blowing on some sort of sauce.

"No. I've heard they have a real blood kink beforehand, but no one's born fully upir to the point where they need blood to survive."

That was news to Peter. He straightened, forgetting his beer as he thought about how Roman had been content eating human food before Letha's death. His moods had also been relatively more stable as well. Sure, he could get all hyped on cocaine and wig out, but it was nothing like the freakish outbursts Peter had seen where he'd attacked people for blood. If that meant Roman still wasn't a full upir yet...

"So how do they become full?" Peter's couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice. He'd thought maybe Roman couldn't be saved; that the reason Nadia hadn't mentioned her cousin was because he was beyond all hope. If he never became a true upir, however, couldn't that stop a ton of shit? Plus he still had the power to influence people so he could help Peter find out who Nadia's real father was, and maybe stop Christina. Win-win.

Lynda stepped away from her cooking and crossed her arms, arching a brow.

"From what I've heard, there's only one way. Suicide."

"Whose suicide?"

"Their own. They have to slit their own wrists or put a bullet in their head or something. Bleeding out by their own hand, that's the way to initiate the change. After that, I don't think there's much hope for them. If this 'best friend' you were talking about is an upir, I'd recommend stopping them before it gets to that point. After the change happens, they'll just get worse and worse. I don't think they can help it."

Lynda must've seen the look of blank shock on his face because she turned away to give him time to gather his thoughts. His jaw worked as he tried to picture Roman doing something as stupid as killing himself. Roman was a troubled idiot with a penchant for putting himself in dangerous situations, but he'd always seemed to value life even if it treated him like shit. Until the end, at least. What the fuck could've gotten to him so much that he'd thought the only way out was death? Because Peter knew him leaving and Letha dying wasn't enough; besides, Roman'd had Nadia to look after. No, this smelled of something darker than anything Peter had known about. He sensed Olivia Godfrey's hand in this whole thing somehow.

"Fucking upirs," Peter muttered, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. Roman had enough problems for the entire town, which meant that Peter would have to keep his own problems to a minimum so he could help. That meant no changing on any time other than a full moon. Greeeaaat. If he had to make a list of things to do, it would probably look like this:

_Step One: Don't become a vargulf or die._

_Step Two: Take care of Christina somehow._

_Step Three: Find out who Nadia's father is, maybe by using Roman's powers on Letha. Ouch._

_Step Four: Save Nadia's father, which is theoretically possible according to Nadia. Which means he_ probably _isn't an angel._

_Step Five: Get Nadia the hell out of town._

_Step Six: Throughout all of this, keep Roman from killing himself. Kill Olivia? Stick to his side like glue? Remove all weapons from the immediate vicinity? All of the above?_

So he was basically going into this armed with more questions than answers and no way to actually attack since he couldn't become a wolf when he needed to. If he could manage to complete steps one to six, that should change enough that everyone didn't die. No upir Roman meant Destiny was okay, and getting Nadia out of here meant Spivak wouldn't mess with her. He could also make sure no one else got dragged into this mess, like Miranda or the Chasseurs.

"Okay, I've got the outline of a plan," Peter told Lynda. "But this could all get messed up really fast, so the second it starts going to hell you should take off. I'll let you know."

"Got it," Lynda replied, removing the pot from the stove and setting it on the counter with a clatter. "Now let's get some food into you; you look like you've been through the wringer and back. Whatever needs to be done, it can wait until you're ready to face it."

 

One week later, Peter went to school for the first time in what felt like a century. With a stolen leather jacket as his only armour, he put his head down and shuffled through the crowd of laughing kids milling about on the sidewalk. He felt so old among the kids who had no idea what bubbled beneath the town's cheery exterior; any innocence he might've had the first time he'd done this walk was gone.

Taking a deep breath, he jammed his hands in his pockets and finally allowed himself to look up to where he knew he'd see a familiar face. He didn't expect it to hit him so hard. His lungs seized up for a second and the wolf snapped at his hindbrain, the history between them hanging in the air so close he could've reached out and touched it. Fighting wolves, running away from problems, dreaming, smoking cigarette after cigarette, laughing in the car together, dying slow deaths under the weight of the world...

"Hey," he said, his voice sounding oddly flat. He didn't know what he expected; a look a familiarity, maybe? A grin? A nod that said more than words ever could? But the moment passed and then it was just him stopped on the sidewalk with kids parting around him while Roman arched an eyebrow.

"What's up." Roman's voice was sarcastic with a hint of harsh amusement, as if he found it funny that Peter had spoken to him. Peter swallowed as he realized that he really was all alone in this. _His_ Roman, his old partner in crime whom had shared everything with him, was gone. This Roman could never understand him the way the future one had. Startling out of his thoughts to find he had been staring sadly at the ground where the ashes from Roman's cigarette had fallen, he shrugged.

Then he walked away without looking back, feeling Roman's eyes following him the whole way. It didn't matter that Roman didn't know him yet. He knew Roman enough for the both of them, and that would just have to be enough.


End file.
